


Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Professional Box Wrangler

by CornerSwords



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adorable Kwamis, As The Plot Demands, Attempt at Humor, Because plot, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Guardian Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kwami & Miraculous Lore, Light Angst, Miracle Box Shenanigans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Puzzle Box Fic, Timeline: lol i dunno, at all, no beta we die like idiots, the miracle box is not designed to be user friendly, there's some light angst stuff early, what's the opposite of user friendly it's that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornerSwords/pseuds/CornerSwords
Summary: Upon transfer of Guardianship to one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the vaunted Miracle Box has taken on an entirely new and exciting form.With one slight complication.How the hell do you open this thing?
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Kwami(s) & Kwami(s) (Miraculous Ladybug), Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Kwami(s), Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & The Miracle Box, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Tikki
Comments: 24
Kudos: 80





	1. Never Stand Within Slamming Distance Of The Door

“So.”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was intimately familiar with every hidden nook and cranny of her bedroom, having traipsed throughout it for the entirety of her life, constantly filling and rearranging the space with any of a wide variety of projects, keepsakes, decorations, furniture, and of course debris (though it very rarely lingered; Marinette had learned all the lessons her many, many lost needles, tacks, and Legos over the years had to offer, and was really quite the expert at digging small, dangerous objects out of tight corners nowadays). Her desk was unusually bare today, having been cleared in anticipation of today’s task; her fabric drawers were admittedly somewhat difficult to open now, and she may or may not have stuffed a particularly stubborn roll of violet charmeuse in with her underwear in the closet, and her computer was _just possibly_ not supposed to be pinning the trapdoor into her room shut along with her vanity and bed _but_ _that did not matter,_ because right now what _mattered_ was the Miracle Box.

Yes, _that_ Box. The Box created to contain the untold power of nineteen separate aspects of reality, culminating in the forces of Creation and Destruction, as represented by nineteen enchanted jewelry pieces of perhaps lessening creativity as they went on but frankly you try coming up with nineteen wholly unique jewelry pieces and see where you get, and of course the adorable, tiny avatars of those aspects attached to each individual piece like a genie to a bottle, the Kwamis. The Box that had taken the form of a mildly elaborate Chinese-style chest of dark wood decorated with deep red Chinese characters, consisting of a single top compartment containing the seven Miraculous of the primary Chinese circle, stylized into an elemental wheel that represented the Five Elements, with the Tao in the center holding the Ladybug and Black Cat in Light and Dark to complete the balance.

Although, upon some reflection, Marinette wasn’t entirely sure the wheel was a traditional Wu Xing elemental configuration. It sort of depended on how Water, Metal, and Wood shook out between the Turtle, Peacock, and Butterfly, but that was another matter entirely.

 _Regardless,_ the Miracle Box contained further secrets than that! _Uncountable_ \- well. Twelve. It contained twelve more secrets. _Unfathomable_ no not that either, if you could fathom the first seven it really wasn’t that much of a stretch that there were twelve more, even if they were arranged a bit oddly? Marinette got that they didn’t exactly choose which Miraculous got what representative color, and which were the primary seven as opposed to the secondary twelve, but surely if they were going for a classical Chinese symbolism theme with the Miracle Box it would’ve made more sense to, say, put the Ox (which was navy blue) on the right side rather than the left, and the Dragon (a classic red) at the front rather than the back?

It was possible that she was reading too much into this, and Master Fu had just not been altogether very interested in making sure that the symbolism of the Miracle Box was as close to classically correct as it could be with the limited color pallet and placement options he had to work with (two layers of drawers for each of the four cardinal directions, one each for the ordinal directions), but also hadn’t he had like _decades_ with the thing before Hawkmoth had hit the scene?

She was a designer, Tikki damn it. It irked her on a personal level that the Miraculous had apparently been put into the box at _random._

So maybe that was a bit unfathomable.

**_Regardless!_ **

None of that mattered anyways because now it was a ball.

And not even a subtle ball. It was literally red with black spots. Like, on point Ladybug symbolism and all considering Marinette’s _other_ job fighting crime in a spandex onesie, but that was _really_ inconvenient for _not associating herself with Ladybug._

Well, it was a _little_ subtle. The symbols of each Miraculous were deemphasized, only being inscriptions on the gold-ringed spots of the ball, and it fit together seamlessly. There really wasn’t much of a way of telling that it was, you know, not just a Ladybug-themed ball. At a glance, anyways.

“So!” Tikki chirped, the tiny, adorable, unfathomably (for real this time) powerful Goddess of Creation perched comfortably on Marinette’s shoulder.

“…how does this thing open?” the young and mildly peeved Guardian asked plaintively, shaking the Miracle Ball gently. “Does… does it _not?_ That’d be really good for security, but…”

“The Miracle Boxes are enchanted to shapeshift depending on the Guardian.” Tikki informed her, floating a little closer to the five-spot patterned circle that theoretically served as the Ladybug Miraculous’ resting place, except the Ladybug Miraculous was in Marinette’s ears at the moment. “When they were created, there weren’t any real security measures put in place – they were all kept at the temple, after all, the assumption was that if anyone got to them through all of us we had almost certainly already lost – but Master Fu may have added something between then and now. Perhaps some sort of code phrase, or secret button sequence. Wayzz and his chosen are usually given to those sorts of passive security measures – you saw the gramophone.”

“Right. But, um…”

Was it in poor taste to speak ill of the memory-wiped and generally kindly old man who had, mere weeks before, been the eminently wise and mysterious Guardian who had taught her everything she knew about magic? Because, being perfectly honest, Marinette had to admit that that really wasn’t very much at all. Certainly nothing that jumped out at her as a secret code phrase or anything like that.

Well. Maybe it was just so that it looked like a ball to those not in the know?

“Miraculous?” Marinette tried, making sure to enunciate the word clearly. The Miracle Ball roundly failed to respond in any way.

“Maybe you should formally introduce yourself to it? Identities are important in magic.” Tikki suggested, still inspecting the Ladybug spot.

Marinette considered for a moment, rolling what she knew of old fairy tales about names and titles about in her head, then cleared her throat.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, and I am the chosen successor of Master Wang Fu as Guardian of the Chinese Miracle Box.”

The Miracle Ball, again, failed to respond except to roll slightly back at a poke from Tikki.

“Master Fu Wang, if you want to stick with Western-order names.” Marinette tried again, eliciting the absolutely unprecedented response of the Miracle Ball rolling slightly forwards on the returning momentum of the poke from Tikki, revealing that it had an at least mildly low center of gravity.

“Okay, so-”

“Dupain-Cheng Marinette, daughter of Dupain Tom and Cheng Sabine.” she tried one more time, to no effect, before nodding at Tikki. “Sorry, just – Chinese Miracle Box, it might have wanted family names first.”

“No, no, I completely understand. We wouldn’t want to miss something that obvious.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you, that was rude of me.”

“Completely fine, you were just trying to get it out of the way, nothing to forgive. So!”

“So. Buttons.”

“Buttons.”

“Are there. Any buttons, I mean.”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Marinette sighed, reaching for the Miracle Ball. “Well, no time to waste, then. Let’s see…”

The obvious thing to do was to poke the same Ladybug spot that Tikki had been inspecting just a moment earlier, and so that was exactly what she did, finding to her absolute lack of shock that it presented a firm and comfortably warm opposition to the further progress of her finger, and did not give way to a hidden button. It continued to not give way as she increased the pressure her finger was applying to the spot, and then Marinette removed her finger from the Miracle Ball, because clearly that wasn’t going to be a productive means of investigation.

“It could be that the Ladybug and Black Cat spots are better secured? They _are_ usually slightly separate from the rest of the Box.” Tikki piped up, and her blue-haired keeper set the Ball down on her desk. There wasn’t exactly enough room to just roll it around carelessly, but Marinette had no trouble rotating the Miracle Ball so that the Fox’s tail was up front. A poke to that spot revealed a now utterly unsurprising lack of a button, and then one more attempt with the Mouse’s simplified mouse shot that theory down once and for all.

“All right, so it’s not obvious. That’s fine. Just means we have to get creative, right?” Marinette said, plastering a weak smile on her face as Tikki slowly circled the Miracle Ball, obviously stumped. “Let’s see… I can’t see any seams, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any, right?”

“It’s worth a try.” Tikki agreed, and Marinette set the Miracle Ball back down on her desk, letting it roll back and forth for a bit before it settled. Settling her hands on the wood, Marinette paused for a moment.

“Hey, this is actually pretty grippy.” she murmured, tapping a few sections of red. “It’s textured, but so small I didn’t even notice until now.”

“That’s good for twisting it.” Tikki asked, her own nubby arms rubbing the red surface of the Miracle Ball. “Maybe that means we’re on the right track?”

Grinning slightly, Marinette tested the obvious angles – vertical and horizontal – both ways, then began slowly rotating the Ball, still working at it as she went. Her smile, however, slowly faded into a consternated frown as she went.

“…I still can’t find any seams. It’s not budging, and I don’t feel any kind of difference in the texture anywhere.” she reported. “As far as I can tell, this is literally a solid ball.”

“Maybe we should think outside the box a bit.” Tikki murmured, drawing a halfhearted groan from her keeper. “The point of the Miracle Box is to keep the Miraculous safe and hidden from those not worthy, right? So maybe it needs to know that the person trying to access it is worthy of a Miraculous.”

“But how do we prove – _oh._ Oh, I get it.” Marinette said, blinking. “Okay, yeah, that seems like it could work. Do you want to try with the earrings first, or go straight to the full transformation?”

“It kind of defeats the point of the Miracle Box to require someone to already be transformed with a Miraculous to open it, but this _is_ kind of an exceptional situation…” the red Kwami mused, floating indecisively around the Ball.

“Well, going straight to Ladybug seems like a little bit of an overreaction.” Marinette reasoned, hands going to her ears. “Let’s try it with the earrings first. Probably the Ladybug spot again?”

“Sure, that sounds like the best chance.” Tikki agreed, floating up to help Marinette with the black stud earrings. Getting one off easily enough, the Kwami giggled as she tucked it under her arm, floating over to help with the other. “Maybe it’ll be like those spy movies, and there’ll be a whole beam of light or a scanning laser?”

“Maybe it’ll even do a voice.” Marinette giggled, smiling again, before waving her arms stiffly in the air in a terrible impression of a robot. “Kwa-mi identified: the cutest one.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with magic!” Tikki laughed, shaking her head as she tucked the other earring under her arm. “Besides, if this is Master Fu’s work, then Wayzz definitely had a hand in it, and I doubt he’d be willing to have _that much_ fun with the _Miracle Box_ of all things.”

“Well, I think you’re not giving them enough credit.” Marinette retorted playfully, rotating the Miracle Ball on her desk to line up the Ladybug spot. “Wayzz might be a bit stiff, but Master Fu knows how to have a laugh with the Universe.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to ask him once we figure this thing out.” Tikki assured her, smiling carelessly, before turning and holding up the Ladybug earrings in front of the five-spotted spot on the Miracle Ball.

Which promptly lit up red.

“Oh, excellent! It wo-”

And, for lack of a better word, slurped up both Kwami and Miraculous in the blink of an eye.

The Miracle Ball immediately dimmed again, light vanishing, and returned to being a supremely uncooperative Ladybug-themed wooden ball.

And Marinette.

Just.

_Stared._

* * *

“-rked!”

 _“Door!”_ a familiar voice bayed, and Tikki blinked as a blur of orange swept by, the world rapidly resolving into pastel shades of violet-blue and white as it did. She felt oddly unburdened, as if she wasn’t _she was not carrying the earrings._

“Aw, nuts. I was really hoping that would be an assembly call or something.” complained-

Okay, yellow, light brown, her-sized, long tail. Yep, that was definitely Xuppu. But Xuppu was inside the Miracle Box, so why was Xuppu also right in front of-

“Goodness, this is quite unfortunate.” and that was Longg’s voice, and the orange blur had sounded a lot like Trixx now that she was thinking about it, but none of that made sense because.

Because.

“Oh, _shit.”_

“Ah, hell. Y’couldn’t’a waited a century?” Stompp complained, floating over past Xuppu as Trixx whined behind Tikki, a triumphant cheer echoing out of one of the pots clustered over in the big junk pile before Mullo popped out of it, arms raised to the sky.

“Wait, I’m not up on current events. What’s happening now?” Fluff asked, poking her head out of the dollhouse as Barkk and Ziggy bounded over the huge bed towards the central circle, sending an angrily buzzing Pollen tumbling out of the sheets.

“We all owe Mullo ten loaves of the finest bread money can buy!” Orikko announced, even as Daikki despondently picked through the ancient wallet behind the rooster Kwami and Sass shook his head dejectedly, floating by without fanfare.

“Aww, you couldn’t have waited two centuries, Tikki?” Roaar complained, jumping down from the gramophone, and only just missing a loudly indignant Kaalki.

“Oh, **_shit.”_** Tikki let herself curse again, because this was about as bad as the scenarios got short of Hawkmoth actually winning.

“Oh shit indeed.” agreed Wayzz, the turtle Kwami looking twice as put-upon as she had ever seen him, and Barkk shouted in victory as everyone else let out another loud groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is essentially a story about Marinette learning to be the Guardian. Through the medium of the Miraculous Box, which is now a puzzle box.
> 
> And all the ways that makes her entire life spiral into chaos. Glorious, glorious chaos.
> 
> There's going to be serious bits. Especially in the immediate future, because I mean come on, it just ate Tikki.
> 
> But there's going to be _more chaos._


	2. Caution: Durable, Handle With Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which serious issues are addressed, to some degree, Marinette considers sleep to be the Devil's work, the Kwamis make fun of each others' terrible habits in Chosen, and there is confirmation that we will not be dealing with time travel any time soon.
> 
> Although that is, by its very definition, difficult to predict accurately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something not quite unlike a panic attack happening here, but it's mostly deferred by Marinette's favored coping mechanism: squish it with more work. It's probably as close as I'm gonna get to angst in this story any time soon, but just keep it in mind if you're sensitive to that sort of thing.

“Okay.”

Marinette was not going to panic.

“Okay, I can fix this.”

She was _not._

“It took Ti-,” and considering how she just about choked on her own small intestine there, _that_ was clearly not a safe line of thought, “and the earrings, so it must have recognized the Miraculous. It just thought that they were being stored,” and _boy_ did saying that feel like big blue eyes heavier than the Sun crushing her heart into her feet, “and now I just need to get them back.”

It was the Miracle Box. It wasn’t a prison, or a lock-box, or a safe with a broken tumbler so that not even the right key could get it open and the things the _people trapped inside were locked in there forever_ no it was none of those things.

It was the Miracle Box.

It dispensed Kwamis.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, active holder and wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous, Great Guardian of the Chinese Miracle Box by inherited duty from Master Fu Wang of the Order of the Guardians. By the rights entrusted to me by my predecessor, my partner, and my friend, I _order_ you to return the Ladybug Miraculous to me.”

It did not dispense her Kwami.

_“Oh Tikki no I’ve ruined everything forever.”_

* * *

_“Oh biscuits no I’ve ruined everything forever.”_

“Calm your nubs, Spots, it’s all gonna be fiiiine.” Trixx scoffed dismissively, floating off towards the big junk pile already. “You’ve got your kit out there working on it, and somehow I doubt whatever Wayzz and Fu screwed up is bad enough to suck her in here too.”

“That’s not possible.” Ziggy asserted, before twitching slightly, worry creasing the Goat Kwami’s mismatched eyes. “Um. Is it?”

“No. This space is inviolable.” Wayzz replied, certain as the setting sun, just as Fluff felt the need to open her darn mouth as she hopped by and rattle off with equal certainty “two out of four hundred seventy seven surveyed timelines” and just _keep going_ while Ziggy started to visibly panic, and Ziggy was not allowed to panic right now, _Tikki_ was panicking! They did not have enough room in this box for two kwamis to panic effectively!

“But, yeah, what exactly _did_ you do to the Miracle Box?” Xuppu cut in, eyes fixed on Wayzz. “Seems like you messed it up pretty freakin’ good if Tikki of all Kwamis ended up here by total accident. Good luck and all that jazz.”

Wayzz rolled his eyes, adopted Standard Lecture Pose Number Forty-Six, and Tikki spared a moment to wish that she had had just a couple more years without being subject to his Ancient Wisdom. Really, she loved Wayzz as a brother and wouldn’t trade him for the world, but the world made a very tempting offer.

“Fu and I made a number of improvements to the security measures of the Miracle Box over the years. With the Butterfly and Peacock missing for so long, and Fu growing older, we felt measures that would ensure it would not be intruded upon except by someone who knew what to look for – ideally someone we had assessed and found worthy in spirit beforehand, and directed to it, of course – and who was at least clear and persistent enough in mind to demonstrate the capability to adapt and overcome.”

“It’s a ball, Wayzz.” Tikki snapped, and it would be petty of her to take satisfaction in the bewildered blink that answered her and the giggle-snort that snuck out of Roaar where she was lurking just out of Lecture Range, but…

No, there was no but. It was petty. She did it anyways.

“A. A what?”

“It’s a wooden ball. And it’s bright red with spots. Whatever you did to the Miracle Box, it is now the Miracle Ball, and I would _love_ to know how that’s supposed to help someone demonstrate _adaptability?”_

…Tikki was being pettier than she was really entitled to, though. For all that Wayzz’s machinations had landed them in this mess, she knew all too well what he had been thinking – what he had been preparing for, had Hawkmoth not finally reared his masked head. And, much as it must have hurt him to prepare for, much as he might not have thought about it as deeply as he did so many other things, she couldn’t exactly blame him – not for getting attached to Fu, and not for going maybe a bit far in the defenses he had layered on the Miracle Box.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his being speechless for _once._ She could almost see the gears turning in the Ancient Wisdom Machine that was Wayzz’s head, cranking for a moment against the spanner thrown into their midst before rallying and chewing on through.

“Without all the details, I cannot say for certain what sort of trial the magic we wove into the Miracle Box’s shapeshifting enchantment has concocted for your wielder.” he told her, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice, “but that it has assumed an outwardly innocuous appearance despite its obvious influences is most reassuring. Many of the defenses and traps we created linked together existing functions of the Box, so that more than one is functioning properly suggests that the rest should be as well.”

“Well, you heard the turtle.” Xuppu piped up. “Y’wanna fill us in on what you’ve figured out so far?”

Tikki grimaced. “Can we get Trixx back for this? Longg and Sass too. I’m afraid that I really don’t have much to report on the matter, and, well…”

“If there’s anything we can do from here, we should try.” Ziggy nodded, quiet but resolute. “But, um… it might be quicker to just call a general meeting?”

“I’ll round ‘em up.” Roaar offered, already heading off towards the other side of the junk pile. “You just put your heads together and figure out if we’re missing anything.”

“Oh, we’re missing a _lot.”_ Xuppu chuckled, even as Tikki and Wayzz shared a wince.

* * *

It had been precisely thirty-one hours and sixteen minutes as of _mark_ since the last Akuma attack. Today was Saturday, and Marinette had worked _so hard_ to ensure that she got this Saturday off and then Sunday for her homework. She had deferred babysitting six different times, downed an ungodly amount of high-sugar-slash-electrolyte, low-caffeine energy drinks sourced through Nino and of unconfirmed legal status to fuel six different rushes on commission orders, and _turned down a commission. **From Jagged Stone.**_

It had _hurt her_ to do. Tikki had had to send the email for her, she kept reaching for the delete button and wondering how much money she would still have to buy out Nino’s emergency stash after material costs, and she had lived in fear of her crazy awesome music uncle’s disappointment for _two hours._ Penny had been truly kind about her _disgracefully_ ungrateful panic attack.

She had barely managed to get the class rep paperwork done! _On Tuesday!_ Honestly she wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or horrified about that, because she had scheduled to be done with it on Monday, but she _hadn’t_ scheduled the sudden Akuma fight and following crash into her bed, where she had slept through two classes and only woken up because _another_ Akuma turned up, thankfully not a particularly dangerous one. Toblerown – angry about the Toblerone thing from 2016 for whatever – no, no, she remembered actually, he had been an EDHEC student who had authored a paper with that whole situation as a case study, and had gotten laughed out of the room? Chat Noir had taken him back to his campus with that look on his face that meant he was going to be very politely _angry_ at someone and she had scrambled to make it to class-

 **FOCUS!** No time to waste thinking about how Chat had covered for her, _again,_ because it had been thirty-one hours and nineteen minutes as of _mark_ since the last Akuma attack, she had scheduled an entire day off and made excuses about intensive studying (that would be _very true_ tomorrow, fortune willing) and then _barricaded_ herself in for the sole purpose of spending one entire day figuring out everything she could about the Miracle Box.

**_And then it ATE Tikki!_ **

Options! She had to have some kind of options, there were always options. She could try to get in contact with Chat, but – honestly, of ‘he would know who I am and then I would never get to see Tikki again I’d be the Worst Guardian Ever and absolutely deserve it’ and _‘this thing might eat Chat’_ she had no idea which one was trying to empty the sugar-laden contents of her stomach all over her freshly vacuumed rug and which one was making a really good effort of _strangling her,_ because the only reason A was not coming true was because B.

So Chat Noir fixing her stupid mistake was a No. That left fixing it herself, which meant either figuring out how to get this stupid thing open the right way ASAP, or-

Kicking her rolling chair back, Marinette stood up in one smooth movement, balled her hands together above her head, and then brought them down.

Her fingers did not break. She knew what broken fingers felt like – this was mild to severe bruising and maybe a sprain, worst-case.

This was quite unfortunate, because two jagged-ended sheets of wood wrapped in a thin veneer of orchid pink were crashing down on splinters and sawdust over white metal support shelves that had not been _nearly_ that short or twisty two seconds ago, and there was a large _dent_ in her wood-panel flooring between them where sat, absolutely pristine and catching just a single teasing ray of sunlight across a strip of Ladybug red, The Fucking Miracle Ball.

And Tikki was not here, she could not be Ladybug, so she could _not_ Miraculous that away.

“Oh my tiny red god.” Marinette murmured, tears welling in her eyes, “I am _so fucked.”_

Then she knelt down and pulled the Miracle Ball out of the hole it had made in her floorboards, because her parents were out for a day on the town and the boulangerie-patisserie was closed for their mini-vacation. It was nice, she reflected absently, that they had repealed that old Napoleonic law that regulated vacation time in the baking trade, and her parents had really earned the time off with all the schedule work (and accompanying miscellaneous paperwork) they had done to help out at the local French Association of Bakers office. August had always been hard on them – a reputation for excellence did that.

And because they were out having fun, Marinette could fix this before they came home. It wouldn’t be a perfect patch, nothing short of Miraculous could do that for the crumpled ruins of her design desk, but if she moved fast she could take the measurements she needed, get a couple of cheap plywood planks cut to the appropriate sizes at Monsieur Laverdur's, and – she’d have to settle for a plastic desk from the big convenience store for now, she was already running on a tight enough budget as it was.

Marinette had never been more grateful that she had kept her old, cheap two-euro tape measure in the little tool kit in her trunk. Sure, it was inflexible and rickety and scratched like claws on chalkboard as she reeled it out, but it was also accurate, because you couldn’t really screw up measuring tape, and was laminated with that cheap plastic that went rigid if you shook it the right way, which worked well for quickly measuring the holes she’d need to fill in. It was so fast that she even got to confirm her desk’s former dimensions!

Quickly scratching down the numbers on a post-it – and a line between the plank measurements and the desk measurements – Marinette grabbed her personal crowbar from the toolkit, slapped the post-it on the surviving desk that traditionally housed her computer, and went about prying up the damaged and destroyed floorboards. It wasn’t something she was totally unfamiliar with, having dropped a number of fairly heavy things in the past, but considering it was the first time that she was doing it without her dad biting his nails at every nail pulled from the underfloor, Marinette personally thought that she did pretty well with it, soon having a neatly quarantined pile of scrap wood and old nails just off to the side of her rug, under the stairs up to her loft.

And then came the slow part.

Stashing her tools and kit, and remembering to pocket the note, Marinette pulled on her heavy gloves. She was going to need some extra grip for this, since getting the leverage for it without causing any damage was such a pain without someone on the other side. Her PC and vanity desk were restored to their proper places with barely a thought, eyes fixed on the final hurdle, and all too soon she was scowling down at the fluffy striped sheets, at the pillows shuffled about against the headboard, at the blinding temptation of a blissful escape into a world where none of it was _her_ problem, was _her_ responsibility to fix and finish and fret about – a world that was a _filthy lie,_ merely a façade thrown up like it would _distract_ her from the deadline’s incessant approach.

 _“Not today,_ Satan.” Marinette Dupain-Cheng growled at her own bed, shifting to the best position she had found earlier – about the corner of the frame, where she could put most of the strain onto the floor.

It would be easier going up than going down – she would only be fighting gravity, instead of trying to balance her own efforts with it. But she would have to be incredibly careful about where she stepped – a desk was one thing, but Marinette seriously doubted she’d be able to produce a replacement bedframe before five, even if the mattress survived.

Not to mention what it’d do to her _floor._

But that was enough dilly-dallying – she was working on a deadline. (Two deadlines, but this one at least she _knew_.) So she locked her arms around and under, mentally checked her path, and _lifted._

Sure, the creaking was ominous, but her bedframe was heartwood. It’d hold. She had taken the mattress off and everything.

* * *

“So, recap; no seams, perfectly round, textured so it’s easy to hold on to, and Ladybug-themed with our symbols inscribed on the spots, all of which are ringed in yellow.” Trixx mused aloud, floating reclined on his own tail. Sharp purple eyes tracked across the meeting circle that was the only feature of the Miracle Box’s pocket dimension aside from their giant pile of junk, taking in the assortment of Kwamis assembled with just the barest flash of worry. “That’s all we’ve got?”

“That, and it automatically absorbed Tikki, with no warning given.” Sass recounted. “Whereupon a portal opened in the Miracle Box’s pocket dimension, placed her here – minus her Miraculous – and promptly closed.”

“Well, I hope someone other than me has an idea.” Xuppu said, rubbing his head in obvious confusion. “Because this sounds like those philosophy trials the old dudes used to love setting up, and that is _not_ my department.”

“You actually may be on to something there.” Kaalki, of all Kwamis, admitted. “With Master Fu and Wayzz involved, it seems prudent for us to assume that the obstacles standing in our new Guardian’s way are more philosophical than physical.”

“What about _our_ side of things?” Pollen cut in. “Surely we must be able to do _something_ within the hive. Communicate with her, somehow?”

All eyes turned to Orikko, and though the Rooster Kwami was clearly loathe not to bask in the limelight, she shook her head regardless, a grimace they had all learned eons ago to read plain as day on her stubby beak.

“That’s Nooroo’s department.” she shrugged. “I might be the center of every conversation, but I can’t start one in another dimension.”

“If Nooroo were here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.” Roaar pointed out, a wry grin on her face. “But if we can’t talk, maybe we can touch? Nooroo’s Transmission, but, I mean.”

“I don’t know what you expect _me_ to do.” Kaalki sniffed. “I can’t _properly_ Voyage without a proper _navigator,_ and I doubt I could cross that boundary without a proper Voyage.”

“Aren’t we all forgetting something?” Barkk piped up, leg tapping impatiently against the ground. “And by something I mean someone and by someone I mean _Fluff?”_

“Paradoxes.” three voices chorused in unison so perfect it would have been eerie if they hadn’t gotten used to it _millenia_ ago, and Barkk threw her arms up in the air in exasperation.

“It’s _always_ paradoxes with you-!”

Then blinked, exaggerated exasperation wiping off her face to reveal only blank confusion.

“Four.”

The three that had spoken – Longg first, whiskers swaying smoothly as she raised a questioning brow, then Stompp, tail and horns carving a more predictable arc even with the slight tilt of his head, and Wayzz hot on his heels, curiosity and confusion coloring wide yellow-green eyes – all turned, and so did the rest of the Kwamis present, their eyes settling on the nominal leader of their little family.

Tikki’s antennae swayed nonchalantly in a nonexistent breeze, the visage of a perfect angel painted upon her adorable face, as she swept her own earnest blue eyes over the entire group with such honest and unquestionable innocence that they could practically see the big white question mark hanging over her head.

“Jeez, you really are worried about this kid, huh?” Roaar said through the silence, crossing her nubby little arms with concern written all over her face. “She’s gonna be okay without you there, isn’t she?”

“Marinette is perfectly capable!” Tikki protested, and at the much more _real_ indignance in her voice the others began to relax.

“She’s one of those types that’ll work themselves to death if we leave ‘em alone for half an hour _again,_ isn’t she.” Orikko deadpanned, stubby arms rubbing quietly at her forehead. “I swear, Spots, you _gotta_ figure out how to stop them doing that if you’re gonna keep picking ‘em.”

“Hey, it’s better than the empty-headed drama queens Kaalki keeps finding.” Trixx sniggered, completely ignoring the glare the Horse Kwami sent his way. “Or the _snoremasters_ Wayzz has his old man bromances with.”

“My chosen are capable of appreciating the finer points of philosophy, unlike your _utter_ _madmen.”_ Wayzz sniped back, and what was left of the tension drained from the room as Mullo let out a squeaky laugh.

“You guys wanna talk about who has the worst picks and you’re not even _looking_ at Barkk?” the Mouse Kwami giggled, drawing a defensive growl from the Dog Kwami, even as Pollen’s buzz turned considering.

“Out of all of us, it’s _your_ Miraculous that always seems to end up with the one that goes rogue.” she pointed out. “And always for the most foolish of reasons.”

“England.” Sass said simply, a mischievous lilt to his smirk, and both Pollen and Barkk froze, suddenly turning almost as red as Tikki, as Roaar burst out laughing.

“Yeah! And who had to beat your ungrateful idiots to get you two back home that time, exactly?” the Tiger Kwami crowed.

“Oh, I remember that!” Xuppu laughed, rolling in midair as the Goat Kwami next to him blushed redder still. “That big tough knight dude Barkk thought was such a great pick _ambushed_ Ziggy’s chosen and _still_ got his ass whooped!”

“Don’t be so hasty to forget Daizzi’s exploits in battle that day.” Longg chuckled, shaking her head. “I still have never, before or since, seen a warrior brought so low by a rake that never even struck her.”

“’Scuse me, why is _Sass_ bringing up England?” Stompp busted in, pinning the awkwardly grinning Snake Kwami with an amused snort. “Considering who _he_ picked during that particular fiasco, and all.”

“That was, quite possibly, the most heavily muscled man I have ever met in all my years.” Wayzz reflected. “What _did_ happen to him, in any case?”

“To be perfectly honest, I _still_ don’t know.” Sass admitted. “He just returned my Miraculous to the Guardian one day and left, without ever saying a word. We never really talked, beyond the basics. But he did an excellent job with my power, you have to give him that.”

“If by _excellent job_ you mean he damn near took some of our own guys’ heads off!” Xuppu protested. “I’m not gonna congratulate you on picking the creepy green dude, Sass!”

“I’m sure that goes to show _something,_ at least.” Orikko interjected loudly. “But, uh, fun as this all has been, I gotta say – Fluff’s been _super_ quiet, guys.”

One more time, their attention turned as one. One more time, to the white-blue Rabbit, staring blankly into the empty blue-violet void at things only she could see.

“…Fluff?” Ziggy ventured, waving her arm slowly, carefully. “Are you, um… present?”

The Rabbit blinked.

And then Fluff’s eyes dropped down, and a happy smile lit up her face.

“Sorry about that, just checking to make sure!”

“…sure of _what?”_ Tikki asked.

“That we’re not going to all have been trapped here forever since the yesterday of the day we got let out of the box and also that the music hasn’t stopped yet.” Fluff answered, then frowned. “Hm. I don’t think that was right either.”

“I mean, I’d be down for putting the gramophone on.” Xuppu shrugged.

“Yeah, that sounds like as good an idea as any.” Trixx agreed, abandoning his own spot on their little round circle to head towards the scattered vinyl.

“Wait, so are we or are we not the paradox?” Barkk asked, looking around as Fluff bounced happily after them, followed closely by a Sass muttering faint curses aimed at the entire genre of country music. “I’m confused.”

“Forever since the day before it stopped happening… and the ‘not’. I reckon that means we’re _not_ due for a visit from Fluff’s pick of this crop.” Stompp confirmed. “Which suits me, for one, just fine. All that time travel nonsense hurts my head.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.” Tikki concluded, watching the four who had already abandoned ship disappear into the wooden hills of the junk pile. “Meeting adjourned, I take it?”

Wayzz blinked. “But. Did we ever actually discuss what Master Fu and I did with the Miracle Box?”

“Nope, we didn’t.”

And then Roaar was gone, bounding happily across the junk, and Barkk with her.

“But – how are we supposed to figure out what to _do?!”_ Wayzz shouted, indignancy and plaintiveness in equal measure echoing through the junk.

“Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s divide and conquer.” Mullo mulled, looking around at the endless expanses of empty space that surrounded the Chinese Kwamis’ little homestead. “…that, and most of us are pretty useless with that kinda magic theory. You’ve got the experts pretty much right here, haven’t you?”

“I – but-”

“Mullo is right.” Pollen agreed. “For now, knowing that the Miracle Box has changed, and it was due to your and our lost Guardian’s influence, is all the information many of us can actually use.”

“More to the point, though, putting all our heads together when all we really know is that we don’t know what’s actually going on is useless.” Daizzi pointed out.

“And we’ve barely even thought about it, really.” Ziggy murmured, casting sad eyes over the enormous pile of junk that they called home. “With what happened to Master Fu, I’m not sure many of us are even in a good place to be thinking about _anything_ too hard.”

“We don’t usually derail _that_ hard, yeah.” Orikko agreed. “Not without Duusu or Plagg, at least. Calling a meeting this quick…”

“It isn’t quite as thoughtful as your normal style.” Kaalki observed, the Horse Kwami looking unusually serious. “Either of you.”

“I… I’m just worried.” Tikki admitted. “With all of us in here, and the Miracle Box locked down, Chat Noir and Plagg are the only ones standing between Hawkmoth and Mayura, and… well, everything else. Marinette…”

Stompp’s arm settled on her shoulder, the Ox Kwami bearing a reassuring little smile. “You heard the Rabbit as well as I did, Red.” he told her. “Fluff might be a bit flighty, but she’s never let us down when things go bad. We’ll get through this.”

“And we will only be wiser for the experience.” Longg agreed. “Now, Tikki, Wayzz, let’s put _our_ heads together and see what we can puzzle out about this Miracle Box issue, yes?”

“I’m gonna go ahead and see if I can’t put a lid on whatever scheme Trixx and Roaar are cookin’ up.” Stompp said, floating off towards the back of the junk pile. “Pollen, Daizzi? You two feelin’ up to a little Kwami wrangling?”

“If it’s all the same to you guys, I think I’d really rather just find somewhere cozy and listen to the gramophone.” Ziggy said, as the Bee and Pig Kwamis followed the Ox. “I’ll try and think about things some more, but…”

“You know what? Taking our minds off matters sounds _wonderful_ right now.” Kaalki declared. “I might even take a nap.”

“Well, you guys have fun with that. Orikko,” Mullo said, grinning as the Rooster cocked her head in curiosity. “you wanna have a look around?”

“…why? I mean, this is still the same old pocket dimension.” the orange Kwami asked, even as her mousier companion’s grin widened.

“Well, the way I figure it, the Miracle Box totally changed when Marinette took charge, right? And this _is_ the Miracle Box, even if it doesn’t look any different.” Mullo explained, gesturing wide around them. “So… I get the feeling that something must have changed in here, too.”

Slowly, Orikko began to nod, a grin spreading across her own face in response.

“Hell, why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

“Excellent! Then let’s get a move on!”

Having procured a Kwami-sized flashlight from sources unknown, Mullo led their intrepid little exploration effort into the ground level of the junk pile, through an opening between the spokes of an antique bicycle wheel and vanishing into the grand unknown under the Big Bed.

Some say they found adventure in those deep, dark crevices at the bottom of the junk pile. Some say they found gold, jewels, riches beyond measure, or ancient knowledge, the lost wisdom and technology of those who had vanished in time’s cruel march. Some say they may even have found the most valuable treasure of all – _friendship._

Whatever the truth, friend, if you remember only one thing, remember these words – the wisdom that Captain Mullo of the Grand Junk Pile Expedition dispensed upon his triumphant return through the rushing rapids of The One Sink They Had In There, accompanied by the good Doctor Orikko and approximately fifteen pounds of dust, wisdom that has guided many a brave wanderer safely through the darkness;

“Never try to wrestle a dust bunny that’s bigger than you are. Only heartbreak and allergies await you.”


	3. Adrien Agreste, Professional Comedy Catboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mood is subject to gravity, Chat Noir pokes his head in and understands nothing, Marinette straight desks a dude, and an actual plan begins to formulate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I can't get away from Marinette's catastrophizing that easily. But she's a strong person (in case you haven't already noticed, I am indeed a subscript of the theory that Marinette and Adrien are in fact _buff)_ and she's not quite as out of options as she feared.

There was something improbably soothing about the feeling of just-warm concrete through his gloves. A dash of hot and abrupt stop replacing cool air that barely even made an effort to hold him back, spreading first through the impossible material of his suit as his weight piled up against the bending crook of his elbows, pressing an endless range of little rough ridges into his palms – then, as his legs passed over in a clean arc, the faintest moment of disorientation as it almost felt like his hands were slipping back from the ledge when that familiar texture shifted with his weight. Fingers trained with swords and staves dug in without even the hint of an order, claws ripping ever-so-slight grooves perfectly into old stone; the little heat the stone had to spare equalized, restoring the warmth the wind had stolen just short of his wrists, his palms freed of their original holdings and exactly level with fingers flush with a stone surface under arms that carried every bit of his body and the weight of the haste that would carry him from the rooftop besides, and in that moment he almost felt like some mad sculptor’s art. A gargoyle in immaculate reverse, launching himself from the roof he was bound to though he had no wings to catch his fall.

His hands rolled through with the rest of his body, knuckles catching the full weight of his uncoiling arms and releasing it and more into the stone that had so kindly played his canvas, and just like that Chat Noir was once again airborne.

Chart Noir? No, a bit too on-the-nose. Chat Renoir? Possibly, but Renoir had been a painter, not a sculptor… he’d have to workshop it a bit.

Putting his preferred art form aside for a moment, however much it pained him – painted him? – it _was_ perhaps a bit early for Paris’ resident anti-butterfly defense force to be out and about, but Adrien was in no way above taking advantage of his circumstances, and circumstances had left him with a weekend’s worth of _finished_ homework pre-approved by Nathalie, an unsupervised independent study period that had been wildly extended when his photoshoot was cancelled for the sake of not kicking off flu season early (apparently it had gotten in through the setting team’s lunch last shoot, which would have been deeply concerning for everyone else involved if it hadn’t been a seven-eleven event, how convenient), and a magic ring slash tiny magic guide-type partner that allowed him to transform into a superhero who protected the City of Lights from the forces of evil.

Really, he was putting in extra work hours more than anything going out on patrol. He was a very civic-minded sort of guy, that Chat Noir – maybe he wasn’t too great at pa _purr_ work, but he was no white- _collar_ pencil-pusher anyways. He practically worked his _tail_ off! And all _fur-ry-_

“Nah, that doesn’t work without the second F sound. It’d just confuse people.” Chat mused, sliding quickly down the second half of his hand-launch and landing soundlessly on the next roof. Killing his momentum with a few short hops, he came to a lazy lean against the building’s ornamental railing, discarding the failed pun with only a small frown at its passing. “Can’t push it too much, they have to feel natural… catural?”

Mulling it over, Chat Noir almost didn’t notice as something a bit closer than the ever-present sounds of Paris in the day reached his ears. Almost – the sound of shoe on concrete was honestly more distinctive than one might think when you were far enough from the main streets that it didn’t just fade into the crowd. Also, when it was loud enough to sound like the Gorilla at a full sprint.

Cocking an eyebrow, he let his gaze drift down into the empty backstreet he had happened upon.

Then he blinked, rubbed his eyes, and leaned over the railing.

“…is that a table?”

* * *

Marinette was not a frequent user of Paris’ backstreets. This did not, however, mean she didn’t know how to navigate them; when your options were so often reduced to ‘get away’ or ‘get zapped’, it was only prudent to make yourself familiar with the areas you tended to end up fighting in more often than not.

She also knew – as a born and raised Parisian who happened to be a part-time magical superheroine – what crime was like in the city. She knew which Metro sections to avoid entirely, where to be aggressively rude to people who approached without warning, and _never_ to acknowledge a language that wasn’t French. She knew that the skilled pickpockets and con men never strayed from their preferred marks of clueless tourists, and that the bad ones could often be scared off with a little effort.

And, of course, that crime rates had dropped _dramatically_ with the advent of Hawkmoth. Turned out that a magical supervillain who preyed on emotional vulnerability regularly attacking the city was pretty bad for the tourist industry, which in turn was bad for the _robbing_ tourists industry. Who knew?

Considering her luck today, though, she really shouldn’t have taken the risk of coming through here. It just figured that - _today_ of all days - she would have to come to a shaky halt in the middle of an alley just a little too far from the main roads to be seen or heard, skidding through a puddle with one foot and jamming the other into a small divot in the pavement just to stay upright. Because there was a small group – three, four men young enough to still be in the late years of lycée, bog-standard black sportswear and close-shaved heads. European to the last, though one was unusually small and thin for this sort of thing, and another had a distinctly Northern hardness to his jawline.

The kind of delinquents that took tourists’ wallets for one reason or another. And there were four of them, the last striding calmly into position to the left of their obvious leader – the Northern one.

“You sure you can carry that, little lady?” the one on the right – gaunt around the face, which only worsened the pockmarks of bad acne – sneered, though it might have been intended as some sort of smile. He struck her as the type to be really bad at that. “Seems a bit heavy for someone your size.”

“I’m stronger than I look.” she replied, short and cold in more ways than one. The wood planks in the big heavy-duty backpack rustled distressingly loudly as she shifted her weight – they weren’t very sturdy, but surely they hadn’t broken already?

“Come on now. We’re gentlemen – the least we could do is lighten your load.” the little one jeered from behind, though they all were looking to their leader now, and-

“Just hand it over, we’re happy to help.” -and Marinette was getting mugged, she guessed, because this might as well happen today too.

She kind of felt like bursting into tears again.

Instead, she shoved forwards and up, caught her grip again near the cheap folding desk’s end instead of middle, and pulled back and down. It was almost beautiful, the way the Northern boy’s stoic non-expression briefly opened into a clear gape of disbelief before he caught a piece of cheap but large furniture to the head and went down _hard._

Marinette arrested the desk’s momentum as best she could, stepped back fast (into the puddle again, _ew),_ and tucked her (surprisingly intact) makeshift bludgeon under her arm with only a bit of awkwardness. It’d be a hindrance more than a help now, too large and clunky to wield effectively in the relatively tight alleyway without putting enough force behind it to cause permanent damage. Fortunately, she was trained in the fine art of shoving a size four where the sun don’t shine by Sabine Cheng, fabled Terror of the Rose-Men, and the second one – so utterly generic she barely even registered him earlier – was already falling back into a crab-scramble away from her.

She could do this. Fighting bad guys was literally her job. Had been for months – years even. _She could do this._

“Okay, that is _defurnitely_ enough of _that!”_

A black streak touched down with heart-wrenching soundlessness, and Marinette _could not do this._

Sunny blonde made itself known, black rapidly resolving into thin armor pieces and an unnaturally perfect fit. A single melodious _ding_ confirmed her worst fears, the slight clicking of that signature baton extending into a full-length staff-

“Sorry I’m late – I saw the whole thing, but I was a bit, ah, _dumbstruck._ ”

-and an exasperated groan issuing forth from her own throat in long-trained reflex. “That was _barely_ a pun and you _know_ it.”

Chat Noir, because _of course._ Of course they had the best and worst possible luck. Honestly at this point she should probably be scoping out somewhere to transform without anyone seeing.

Except she couldn’t.

Because the Miracle Ball had eaten Tikki.

And she had smashed said Ball through her desk.

Her backpack thumped lightly against her back, finally coming back from the swing of earlier violence, and she mentally corrected; desk _and floor._ Because _that_ was _better-_

“I’d say I only have my _shelf_ to blame, but we both know I’d be _lion.”_

Marinette had never been so grateful to be subjected to her partner’s endless stream of puns. That, at least, she knew how to deal with; groan, roll her eyes, and focus on the matter at hand, which was dealing with the four-

“Um.”

“What?”

“I think they all ran off while you were busy making awful jokes.”

The Northern one was still face-down on the ground, a light whimper of pain indicating that he was probably at least partially conscious, but the others had at some point between _dumbstruck_ and _lion_ made good their escapes.

Which meant there was no immediate threat to resolve. Which was good, of course, because it left her and Chat Noir to deal with the already-stopped crook, and then she’d go home, probably followed quietly by Chat because he was way too curious for his own good, and she wouldn’t notice because he was also very very sneaky when he wanted to be, not until it was too late and she was fixing up the damage she had done to her room like a _moron_ and Chat would totally be able to see it through her balcony window and maybe even the Miracle Ball too and he would put everything together and confront her and then the damn thing would probably eat him too and then Hawkmoth would Akumatize someone and no one would be able to stop him because the damn Ball was indestructible but _Hawkmoth_ would probably be able to get it open just by, like, tapping it with his cane and then he’d get _all_ the Miraculouses and Chat would hate her forever and also the world would probably be either destroyed or conquered. _Forever._

And it would probably be _really_ gaudy and overdesigned too, just because _Hawkmoth-!_

“Are you okay?”

Marinette responded to this, entirely rationally, by screaming nonsense and tripping over herself, landing in not only the first puddle that had been _tormenting_ her but also a second, _smaller_ puddle that felt _slimy._

Also the desk fell on her, but that was barely worth mentioning really.

“I am having. _The Worst Day.”_ she admitted, voice low and quiet.

“…um.” said Chat Noir. “Can I… help?”

 ** _“Absolutely not.”_** Marinette stressed.

Actually no, that would just make him more worried. Chat was a good person – he’d snoop, even if only a little, and – and – and she was not going to catastrophize _again_ while laying in two puddles under a desk in a back alley.

“I – I don’t – it’s personal.” she mumbled, getting her arms under her. Shrugging the desk off just enough to clamber to her feet, Marinette carefully propped the desk against her leg. “It’s…”

Chat looked sad and confused and a little bit hurt, with big round green eyes that sparkled a little bit like he was just as close to crying as Marinette was. And worse than all that, he looked _small._

He couldn’t help, because getting his help with this would _definitely_ only make things worse the way things were going. But Chat Noir, for all his terrible puns and cheesy romanticism, was her _partner_ and her _friend,_ and Marinette – Ladybug – _Ladybug, he’s going to be **crushed** if Ladybug disappears with no explanation-_

And just like that, it clicked.

“I can’t talk about it in front of the guy.” she said, a confidence she absolutely _did not feel_ rolling smoothly into her voice as she stood up properly, pulling the desk up against her side. It was still serviceable, if somewhat dented at one end – she could hammer that out pretty easily. “And we can’t just leave him here.”

Chat started guiltily at the reminder of the maybe-less-than-half conscious mugger, looking back. “I mean – I can probably run him to the station really quick-”

Marinette’s free hand caught his shoulder. “It’s not safe to talk about here, Chaton. You know where I live – be there at eleven. I’ll explain.”

If anything, that only made him more confused. Which, at least, wasn’t _sad._ Confused was better than sad – and Marinette was pretty confused too, but she was also beginning to actually feel that confidence she was totally faking.

“But… I have to meet Ladybug for patrol at eleven.”

A reassuring pat to his shoulder, and Marinette strode by, quickly accelerating into something just short of a sprint.

“Eleven!”

And then she turned the corner and put her full focus on the path. She still had time to get everything squared away by sundown – and even to sew together the crazy jigsaw pattern that had thrown itself into place in her head, because Chat deserved not to be blindsided when she couldn’t back him up.

And he deserved something to help fill the gap, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's got _something_ cooking. I feel bad about leaving Chat Noir confused and slightly afraid, but The Plot Demands It.
> 
> More importantly, though, we're finally getting back to the actual focus of this fic; Marinette-as-Guardian and the trial of figuring out what the hell Master Fu actually foisted on her (the man _tried,_ but _holy crap)_ through the medium of the least cooperative puzzle box in the entire universe.
> 
> You know, I'm starting to think Marinette should demand compensation from... _someone._ Maybe Hawkmoth? In the most twisted sense possible he _is_ the reason she has two extra jobs.
> 
> Eh. Something to think about. In the meantime, let me know what you think through the innovative method of however the hell you feel like. You're your own person. Live free. Run wild. Or don't. Like, it's probably a bad idea to run wild right now. If nothing else, you're probably not paying a lot of attention to the things around you right this very moment. Like, I can't think of a lot of scenarios where you could go from reading this sentence and running wild immediately and not bump into something and/or someone really quickly.
> 
> So, official recommendation: live free, check surroundings for potential hazards, _then_ run wild. Unless you don't feel like it, in which case you do you.
> 
> And frankly, this is getting kind of way too long. Signing off!


	4. The Simplest Solutions Can Be Surprisingly Unintuitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette takes the first steps towards solving the Miracle Box, the Kwamis make do with the resources available to them, and Chat Noir determines his subplot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! As a present in lieu of going anywhere, here's a somewhat longer chapter that makes some actual progress!

It wasn’t _perfect,_ of course. The new boards were visibly lacking in comparison to their predecessors, the new desk an obvious placeholder. But it all _fit,_ and it even provided hard surfaces to… do.

Things.

Things like putting the Miracle Ball on them!

_Very carefully._

It rolled a bit to the side, slowed – rolled back a bit, slowing again. Then it rolled over, about a quarter of the way, and rocked back and forth some more before settling down.

The desk remained entirely unbroken. Even the bit she had whacked back into shape with a hammer.

No one got eaten by magic.

Not that that had happened _at first_ last time. So Marinette remained wary as she considered the Miracle Ball, once again still on her desk.

It still looked seamless to her, and the spots obviously weren’t going to do anything – Marinette was _not_ going to risk touching the Ladybug symbol, that was just _begging_ for the conniving container to grab her too.

And talking to it hadn’t done anything. It might be looking for some entirely different password, but short of that being “Spots on?”, or “Spots off?”, which it evidently wasn’t, Marinette had zero ideas. She _could_ just ramble at it for a while about everything Master Fu had taught her… but that seemed like a really bad idea regarding the objective of _not_ being overheard with sensitive Miraculous information.

So, assuming that the trick to make it work wasn’t a password, and wasn’t something on the ball, what did that leave? It was a ball, after all.

…and if it was a ball, the simplest possible kind of ball, then that meant there were only two parts to it, right? The inside and the outside. So… if the answer wasn’t outside the ball…

Hesitantly, Marinette picked up the Miracle Ball once again. It wasn’t very heavy, but she wouldn’t call it light – she wouldn’t trust, say, Manon with it… for entirely obvious reasons, but also because Manon would probably drop it within a few seconds. As she had discovered earlier, it was also… durable, to put it lightly, and textured.

Something was bugging her about it, though. Something didn’t quite match up.

Durability? No, it hadn’t been anything other than a solid ball at any point, and had proven _frustratingly_ indestructible. That could probably be discarded. The spots? The only one that might reasonably have changed was the Ladybug spot, but Marinette risked a quick poke to the Dragon’s symbol – to no effect beyond a slight rolling of the ball as it resettled, which was oddly even more frustrating than if It had just sat still. The texture? It was still seamless and grippy enough to be securely held in one hand, as far as a quick inspection of the red part of it went, with the only difference in the texture remaining the inscribed symbols of the nineteen Chinese Miraculi. Its design? Absolutely not, it had remained exactly the same before and after it had eaten Tikki.

So… weight?

Well, she knew its general weight, but how could that possibly be helpful? The only other detail of note about its weight was that it was bottom-heavy, which…

Marinette abruptly felt like an absolute dolt. She had _just seen it,_ after all – the ball rolling oddly. Rolling _back,_ then all the way down to its resting state.

If it had a consistent center of gravity, then it should have just rolled straight to it. But if it _didn’t…_ then that meant there were moving parts inside the ball.

She just had to figure out how to use them.

“I guess the first step is…”

Setting her hands on the ball, she spun it between them. Only half a rotation – to turn it upside down, so that the weight inside it was settled at the top.

And the weight immediately responded by _unsettling itself._

Marinette just about _shrieked_ in joy, bouncing up from her design chair with the Miracle Ball in hand. The only reason she didn’t was the faint steel-on-steel _skrr_ sound coming from inside of it, so small and silent that it could have been her imagination against the white noise of Parisians going about their day in the onset of evening and the wind brushing gently past her balcony wind; instead, the young multinational pressed her ear to the ball, twisting it slightly as she did, and was rewarded with the slightest increase of that sound’s volume, grating slowly down her ears, and Marinette found that she had a new favorite sound.

It was the sound of _victory._

As opposed to the loud _ka-CRONK_ that suddenly issued from inside the Miracle Ball, startling her into an _actual_ shriek this time as she dropped it on her nice(ish) new floorboards. Or the sound of gears grinding together in horrible disharmony, though that only lasted a few awful seconds – long enough for Marinette to snatch up the ball and breathe a sigh of relief that the floor hadn’t been smashed in again.

Belatedly, she turned her attention back to the Miracle Ball… and found that its weight was shifting again. Exactly as it had before, like a car going downhill on freshly poured concrete not quite thick enough to sink into – unnaturally slow, seeming to pick up and lose speed almost at random-

_ka-CRONK_

_Ow._ Grimacing at the return of the horrible grinding noise, Marinette chased another thread of a lost thought – Manon was picking at her mind again. She wasn’t entirely sure why; Manon was many things, cute remarkably high on that list and… _rambunctious_ as well, but what in the world did Manon Chamack have to do with-

_ka-CRONK_

_Ow._ What in the world did Manon Chamack have to do with whatever was going on inside the Miracle Ball?

_ka-CRONK_

_Ow!_ That was really messing with her head… the weight was being moved in reverse by whatever was making that awful grinding sound, she could feel that quite clearly. But if it just followed a path and then made awful noises, what was even the point of it moving at all?

…path, moving, Manon… inside the… Miracle _Ball…_

_Oh._

_ka-CRONK_

**_Oh!_** One of Manon’s toys – Madame Chamack made a point of providing her daughter with a variety of toys, not just dolls, and Manon had been getting frustrated with a new one the last time Marinette had babysat! It was a plastic ball, entirely transparent, with a set of tracks inside it and a single ball bearing – the idea was to move the bearing along the tracks to the end goal without dropping it out of them by turning the ball.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but – a similar concept? If that was the case-

_ka-CRONK_

This time, wincing again as the grinding came to a halt, Marinette gave the Miracle Ball an experimental twist as the weight inside shifted down its track. Again, her idea proved fruitful; the weight shifted again, apparently onto a different track… directly towards the spot marked with a stylized four-wings symbol. The Butterfly. Maybe…?

Turning the Ball a bit more to get the weight inside it to its goal, Marinette grinned wildly as the weight inside it centered on the Butterfly spot, and a soft violet light began to shine from within the inscription-

_ka-CRONK_

-and then abruptly flickered out.

“Oh, _no...”_

She had been on _such a roll…_ but then again, it _was_ the Miracle Box. At least she actually knew what the key _was,_ now. Or. The keyhole? Some kind of lock-related item. She knew it.

Or, at least, she had some pretty strong suspicions. That the Butterfly had begun to light up even though the Butterfly Miraculous and Nooroo were nowhere nearby _(hopefully)_ probably meant that any of the Miraculous symbols would light up if she got the weight inside the ball to pass underneath them. That it had then immediately given her the Wrong noise and started resetting… that could be a couple of things, actually.

It could be that the track that had gotten the weight inside the Miracle Ball under Nooroo’s symbol was a trick, and the weight had just ‘fallen off the track’, like Manon’s toy but _much less nice about it._ It could also be because Nooroo and his Miraculous weren’t _in_ the Miracle Ball, but she could check that pretty easily by trying one of the ones that she knew were in there.

Or it could be that there _was_ a password after all… except that instead of a _spoken word,_ it was a sequence. Of Miraculi.

Or it could also be any combination of them, or some other thing she hadn’t even thought of yet. Marinette just… didn’t know. And the only people who _might_ know were Master Fu, who had wiped his own memories clean to protect them, the Kwamis who were sealed into the Miracle Ball, who couldn’t help for obvious reasons, the Kwamis who _weren’t,_ who might be sucked in just as easily as Tikki was and might also take their _keepers_ with them, _Hawkmoth,_ who **_no_** (although she really wouldn’t mind testing that theory on him and his faithful minion) and… the Order of the Guardians.

Who were in Tibet. And also like two hundred years out of touch.

…also also, probably under some kind of magic hiding spell. And she had no idea where to send a letter to anyways, ‘Tibet’ was probably a tiny bit too vague.

“Trial and error, then.” Marinette sighed, as the Miracle Ball continued to grind away in her hands. A quick look at her wall clock told her it was just shy of four-thirty – her parents would be home sometime soon.

Considering how _loud_ the error sound was… she might not be able to experiment with it often. But for now, if she could just rule out some of the possibilities and get a feeling for the tracks inside the Miracle Ball…

That’d be… a good start, at least.

Tapping her fingers against the cheap replacement desk, Marinette pulled out her phone. Four forty-five – her parents would be home any minute, and her window of opportunity would close with the door. She hadn’t re-blockaded her bedroom, it wasn’t worth the time investment since she had so precious little…

They’d have dinner a little earlier than usual thanks to her parents’ early lunch plans, probably close to eight… time, time, time. How Marinette hated its unrelenting march. If she claimed to have skipped lunch-

-did she skip lunch? She _had_ skipped lunch. Well, at least it wouldn’t be a lie. So, claim to have skipped lunch, pitch in on dinner, and eat even earlier. Seven-ish if she was lucky. Cleanup would leave her with maybe three hours to prepare, and to properly hide the Miracle Ball.

And then eleven o’clock at night… meant Chat.

…she should probably think her story through a little bit more.

* * *

“Found it!”

A sigh of relief in full refrain went up from across the Junk Pile, tiny heads poking out all across the Miracle Room. A specific part of the pile, slightly off to the side and comprised mainly of what looked to be cases for the gramophone’s vinyl, wobbled slightly before collapsing; Barkk’s distinctive ears flopped upwards as the Dog Kwami broke free of the Junk, dragging along a reflective black ball larger than she herself was.

“Is that really the only one we have?” Roarr piped up, shaking herself clean of the dust that had chosen her as its ticket out of a quite literal underwear drawer. “There must be _something_ else we can use in all this.”

“I mean, there _was_ that stack of tarot cards.” came Sass’ hoarse voice, the Snake unusually red in the eyes. Stompp thumped him on the back as he passed, and the Snake doubled over into a loud, disgusting coughing fit. Ziggy, wincing, headed for the water cooler they had found under the now-Piled contents of Master Fu’s VHS library.

“The more options we have, the better…” Mullo put in from somewhere within the Junk. “Assuming we can, y’know. Get them to work.”

Xuppu snorted loudly, the Monkey Kwami grinning widely as he dropped from the grandfather clock. “Hey, why’s everyone being such a downer? This is good! Great even!”

“It is the nature of the hunter to wish the largest prey on his own shoulders, having given sweat and blood in its pursuit.” Wayzz said. Most eyes, tired from the long effort of trawling the Junk Pile, turned to Daizzi, who gave a slight, awkward grin.

“Uh, we’ve been searching pretty hard for a while, and the crystal ball isn’t going to get us out of here. I think we’re just mostly feeling bad that none of us – except Barkk, good job Barkk – found it. Or something better.”

 _“Wow_ that’s petty.” Orikko announced carelessly, dropping onto her butt off-center of the Meeting Circle. “Also? Makes perfect sense.”

“It is only to the hive’s benefit that one completes a crucial task.” Pollen philosophized, buzzing slowly over from the far side of the Junk Pile.

“Well, if you all’re looking for _more_ work,” Stompp began, to intermittent groans that were likely mostly Trixx, “we still gotta turn the dang thing on. Job’s not done.”

“Surely that can’t be _too_ hard. Fu may not have been fully trained, but to an extent that means the things he collected of an arcane nature were those he had already learned to use, or was able to puzzle out from his existing knowledge and Wayzz’s support.” Longg said, not a whisker out of place as she considered the ball being carefully placed in the Meeting Circle by Barkk. “For all his hard-earned wisdom, we have centuries of experience at our disposal with magics both primal and arcane. My Chosen may not have worked with seers’ magic much in the past, but surely-”

“Can we just get to the part where we figure out how Marinette is doing already?” Tikki interrupted, impatience thick in her voice, and thumped the crystal ball with surprising strength for someone so tiny.

Abruptly, the uniform black of the smooth sphere was shot through with roiling red and gray, rolling away from the Kwami responsible; Barkk yelped as she jumped out of the way, leaving Wayzz to back away as quickly as his magical levitation would take him. Thankfully, Stompp ducked in again, his horns scraping against the surface of the ball as he brought it to a quick stop with only a short grunt of exertion.

“Keep your spots on, Spots.” Trixx sighed, suddenly inspecting the crystal ball by no apparent means. “No one’s having fun when you’re _really_ on edge.”

Before Tikki could snipe back at the Fox Kwami, he tapped the crystal ball himself, soft orange threads quickly arranging themselves into a misty web inside the ball. Grinning mischievously, Trixx then gave it a push, rolling the crystal ball out of the Meeting Circle.

Kaalki, who had just emerged from the Junk Pile with _dust_ in her _mane,_ did not have a chance to go through with her plan of loudly complaining about it before she was hit in the face with a crystal ball about three times her size and bounced back into the darkness. Lines of brown, solid and steady, dug themselves through the coalescing magic already within the crystal ball, and Wayzz frowned as it quickly began to resolve into an image of the night sky.

“I was not aware you had such… _expertise_ with farsight, Trixx.” the Turtle Kwami said, tone heavy but not _quite_ disapproving.

“Oh, you know me – I _love_ my oracles. They make such _marvelous_ chaos.” Trixx snickered, catching the ball with relative ease, something not _quite_ malicious enough to be amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Especially since so few people _believe_ in them. Cassandra was… instructive.”

Roarr shouldered Tikki before she could explode in frustration, grinning with that same hint of schadenfreude. “Just because you _mystical masters_ didn’t think of what the rest of us have learned over the years doesn’t mean you get to be angry.” the Tiger scolded the Ladybug, though the humor in her tone softened it somewhat. “Trixx can’t send messages any more than Kaalki can, anyways.”

Tikki deflated, although she did indulge herself with a bit of grumbling, as the rest of the Kwamis began to gather around the crystal ball – save Fluff and Kaalki, presumably lost to the Junk Pile for all of eternity. Ziggy passed a much-needed bottle of water to Sass, who coughed gratefully, and then squinted into it.

“That… isn’t that-”

* * *

“-somewhere close, at least. That much’s for sure.” Plagg drawled lazily through a mouthful of cheese, staring up into the night sky rather than his increasingly panicked Chosen’s face. Adrien wasn’t panicked _enough_ to forget how to use the kitten eyes, after all, and even the Black Cat Kwami wasn’t _quite_ immune. “Trust me, _I_ would know.”

“But then why wouldn’t Ladybug have gotten in contact with _me?”_ the blonde whined. “If something important happened, why would she go through _Marinette?_ I mean, sure, Multimouse, but-”

“It’s probably something totally mundane that got in the way. Civilian stuff.” the little god sighed, pausing to savor his food before swallowing. “Look, kid, we don’t know anything about what happened, right?”

“Right.” Adrien agreed readily.

“And she does, right?”

“That’s what Marinette said.”

“So, the way I see it, you’re not going to get anywhere just sitting on her roof and panicking. The best thing to do is to go in there, listen to what she has to say, and _then_ obsess about it.”

Not that Plagg wouldn’t prefer his Chosen to be calm and rational, of course. He just knew that the kid obsessing about it was inevitable – Tikki’s Chosen tended to have that effect on his own, regardless of any other circumstances.

“But what if-” Adrien began, apparently not done chasing his own tail – Barkk would have an absolute _blast_ with the kid, not that he’d ever let one of _his_ be traded off to that mangy mutt – and then the trapdoor to the bakery’s roof creaked loudly, and Plagg resigned himself.

 ** _“Clawsout!”_** _thud_

Chat Noir, now featuring a brilliantly contrasting white in addition to the usual black of his outfit, sat. He wasn’t really sure what else to do, as the pertinent danger had already been addressed – the trapdoor had slammed shut the instant he began rattling off his transformation phrase, and aside from the white noise of distant cars and faint footsteps that was simply the ambience of Paris at night, there really wasn’t anything else going on.

Well, that and the _delicious_ scent of pastries. Sugary and nutty and more than a bit of chocolatey as well, mingling together to tint and flavor the strong, steady overtones of flour and fire – the ovens, no doubt. Tom and Sabine’s always smelled like heaven, and tonight was no exception, though perhaps it was a bit less than he remembered.

And now he was hungry _and_ mortified. Wonderful.

“Are you transformed?” Marinette’s voice called from the other side of the trapdoor, and Adrien nodded. Then he realized that nods weren’t audible.

Nod-ible. Yes. Puns. Puns would save him.

“Sorry for the sur-purr-ise, Princess. I was just taking a meow-ment to collar my thoughts – didn’t mean to get _cat_ with my bell down.”

There was an audible, almost physically pained groan, and then the trapdoor flipped open, Marinette apparently feeling the need to glare at him personally as she poked her head up through it.

“Just get down here, you silly stray.”

“Can do!”

The budding fashionista dropped down into her room, and Chat Noir followed with easy grace, thanking… not _Plagg,_ Plagg was _Bad_ Luck. Tikki? A more appropriate Kwami didn’t spring to mind, so he rattled off a short prayer to Tikki in the privacy of his own head and then turned his attention to matters more immediate.

Marinette was already rummaging in her trunk on the main floor of her bedroom, apparently having been _very_ quick down the stairs from the loft. He had been here a few times before, and honestly it hadn’t changed much from the first time, back when Nathaniel had been turned into Evillustrator – still mostly pastels and pinks, surprisingly clean considering how busy its inhabitant was. There wasn’t any obvious main project in progress, no mannequins or rolls of fabric, and a quick check under the loft informed him neatly what Marinette had been doing with that desk – it was already in place of the (much nicer, he remembered) desk she normally used as her design space, and was weirdly bare in light of that.

“Why are you hanging upside-down from my loft?”

Chat blinked, twisting easily to look at Marinette. She was standing now, with something covered in dark cloth under her arm; also, the blood was starting to rush to his head.

“Idle curiosity, I assure you.”

A strange frown crossed his classmate’s face, and he inwardly cursed – _puns,_ why had he not stuck to the puns?!

“They say curiosity killed the cat, and I’d really rather you in one piece.” she said, voice pitched oddly, and Adrien quickly rolled through his perch, dropping quietly to the main floor.

“Ah, but satisfaction brought it _black,_ no?”

The unfamiliar emotion in Marinette’s eyes immediately flattened into familiar annoyance. “Sense of humor notwithstanding.” she muttered, which he was willing to count as a win. Puns two, awkwardness one. “Right now, especially. I’ll cut to the chase – you’re not going to like this, Chat.”

“Come now, I’m sure it can’t be _that_ bad.” Adrien assured her. “Ladybug and I can handle _anything._ Akumas, Sentimonsters, even homework!”

Marinette winced.

“That’s the problem. As of today, Ladybug isn’t in Paris.”

If she said anything in the few seconds past that, Chat Noir didn’t hear – drowned out by the sound of his heart having its very own personal panic attack. He was somewhat tempted to join it, but that wouldn’t be productive – not as productive as scanning poor Marinette for the Akumatized item, at least. An unfortunate necessity, but one he was prepared for. What kind of power could create a scenario like this? Something like Oblivio, or Volpina – illusions or memory-manipulation, likely, trying to-

“I told you you weren’t going to like it.” Marinette murmured, cutting through the haze, and Adrien forced himself back to the present just as she held up the package. “But I have proof.”

Proof could be faked, one way or another. Akuma were tricky like that, had completely unpredictable powers – or it could be like Pixelator, he really _should_ be getting out of the way but his legs seemed to have abruptly turned to solid steel, which was quite inconvenient.

Almost as inconvenient as the soft glow that emanated from the package’s contents as Marinette drew back the cloth covering – three thin vials, all of them holding a perfectly equal amount of a luminescent pink liquid.

“I don’t know what they are exactly,” Marinette said, voice soft and hesitant, “but Ladybug said that there had been an emergency, and that you’d know how to use these.”

The potions – the ones that Ladybug had learned to make from Master Fu, the ones that had granted them incredible powers when they needed them most. Adrien didn’t know what the pink one did – he had only seen seven colors, and used three – but if Hawkmoth was capable of creating an Akuma that could fake the distinct whiff of magic in the air and the almost-alive light that radiated from those vials, never having seen them himself…

“They’re… I…”

But.

“I… I can’t say those don’t seem real.” Adrien said carefully, eyes fixed on the grimace set into Marinette’s features. “I’m still… confused, though. Why did Ladybug go to you, instead of calling me? It’s – I can understand emergencies coming up, but-”

“You both know who I am, but no one _else_ does. That’s what she said.” Marinette recited clearly, carefully wrapping the potions back up in the thick cloth – looping it around each vial individually, to insulate them from each other. “Even if that meant I couldn’t be Multimouse anymore, she said that was going to have to be good enough to trust me with these. She was in a _really big hurry,_ Chat, all I really know is that and that she had to get out of Paris.”

Damn. That was… a really great answer, actually. The kind of thing Ladybug would have come up with, if she was in that kind of a rush. Maybe…?

But why would Ladybug lie to _Marinette_ about this? It made no sense – leaving the potions with her under false pretenses. There _had_ to be something he was missing. Some kind of hidden message, or information too dangerous to leave with Marinette…

He had to talk to Plagg. He had to talk to Plagg _right now._

“Okay. I understand.” he said, like a filthy liar. “Leaving these with you was dangerous, but if she was desperate, it makes sense. I’ll take care of things from here, alright?”

Marinette looked like he had just lifted the Eiffel Tower off her shoulders – an expression that Chat was intimately familiar with, thanks to his _unique_ line of work. “Alright. I trust you, Chaton, I wish I could do more to help.” she said, carefully relinquishing the package.

And that, he thought, might just be another opportunity. Cradling his precious cargo, Chat took a moment to think it through, then nodded.

“Tom and Sabine’s has a public phone number, doesn’t it? Ladybug doesn’t have my contact information, but she might try to get back in touch with you.” he said, to a few blank-eyed blinks. “If she does-”

“My balcony – I’ll put something on it. Fabric. Red, black, green, your colors.” Marinette immediately said, gaze sharpening. “Only at night, past ten. I’ll try to make it obvious from above.”

Chat Noir nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out then. _Thank you,_ Marinette.”

“It was the least I could do, I promise.”

* * *

Her partner’s departure left Marinette alone in her room once more, heart still beating like a jackhammer but not about to bust out of her chest.

She felt… good about this. The pink potion would be crucial for dealing with attacks without Ladybug on the scene, if what Master Fu had taught her about them was accurate, and Chat had even given her a reasonable excuse to pass on more ‘messages’ if she needed to.

Making more of those potions wouldn’t be easy – she knew _how,_ thankfully, the complete process from start to finish, but the ingredients would be hard to come by and harder to acquire without rousing suspicion. Harder still to pass on to Chat if it became necessary. And it’d be hard as _hell_ to explain all this away once she got Tikki out of the Ball…

…but she knew what she was doing now. She was making progress.

The only important thing now was to keep pushing forwards.

* * *

“So she definitely lied.” Adrien confirmed, pacing solemnly in his room.

Plagg paused, mouth halfway around a slice of Camembert. Reluctantly, he pulled back and fixed his Chosen with a curious stare. “Lied? What does Tikki being in Paris-?”

“Marinette said Ladybug was out of Paris. And she gave me _these_ to prove it.”

Plagg was silent for a moment. The Black Cat Kwami rubbed his eyes, actually dropping his beloved cheese (if only onto the plate half an inch below), took a good, long stare, sniffed loudly at each vial, and then floated back to his little cheese plate, obviously bewildered.

“Cheddar crumbs, those are _real._ But – that doesn’t make-”

“-any sense? No. It doesn’t. No Miraculous distributed, no calls, no notes left in the usual stashes, just a message and some potions with Marinette. And if Tikki is still in Paris, and Ladybug was transformed when she talked to Marinette – then that means Tikki was with Ladybug. There’s no reason they would have been separated.”

Adrien rounded on Plagg, something desperate shining in his eyes. “Tikki _is_ still in Paris? And active? You’re 100% sure?”

 _“Yes,_ kid, I’m absolutely sure. Two halves of a whole and all that – I don’t know where she is _exactly,_ but Tikki’s nearby and in one piece.” Plagg retorted, annoyed. “But why would the _baker girl_ lie about that? She – I mean, she’s your biggest fan, isn’t she?”

 _“I don’t know!_ The potions are real, so _something_ happened, but I just don’t know – maybe Ladybug lied to Marinette, or Marinette lied to me, but all I know is that I’m _definitely_ missing something!”

Plagg grimaced. “Well, I can’t say I’m not in the same boat there.” he admitted. “But what _exactly_ are we gonna do about it? We don’t even know what we’re missing.”

“But we know where to start.”

The Kwami blinked.

“…kid, you know stalking civilians is wrong, right?”

“I’m not going to _stalk Marinette,_ Plagg! I’m just going to… _investigate!”_

Plagg let his head fall into the headache-alleviating grasp of his nubby arms, groaning loudly.

* * *

“This is going to blow up in _all_ our faces.” Trixx predicted gleefully, in perfect sync with Plagg’s slightly echoey forecast of doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not exactly light and fluffy, but that's fine. Chat Noir and his constituent characters deserve a bit of a crisis of their own, after all, and the Kwamis deserved a scene as well. I'm really getting attached to the Junk Pile concept.
> 
> For those wondering about the simplicity of the Miracle Ball, keep in mind - this isn't just a puzzle box. This is a _magical_ puzzle box. Marinette's barely scratched the surface, but progress _is_ progress, y'know?
> 
> And the Miraculous potions. You know, they're apparently a reworking of a concept that was revealed in 2016? Pearls and Stones that granted extra powers to Ladybug specifically. Two of them have already been directly reworked into potions - the Aqua and Space potions.
> 
> I have my theories about what the remaining potions do, and how those old concepts were mapped, altered, and discarded.
> 
> And you get to read about them!
> 
> You know.
> 
> Later.


	5. A Perfectly Normal Day At School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see a bit of the class and a lot more of Lila Rossi, Marinette hasn't slept this entire time, some hints are dropped, and a bit of semi-fluffy conspiring caps it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, ah... fought me. Sorry for the wait. Honestly, it's not all that and a bag of chips for the effort, either. But it _is_ something, so.
> 
> It's a fairly low-key something, _but it is something._ And that's going to have to do for now.

College Francois-Dupont was a fairly standard French secondary school, unusual mainly in its high profile as the preferred place of education for some of Paris’ most notable. Post-Hawkmoth, it had become somewhat notorious for less admirable reasons.

However, life muddled on. Sunday passed in a peaceful sort of anticipatory haze, the tension of a city that had just passed the ‘safe point’ between Hawkmoth’s attacks weighing down on weekend cheer. Again, Chat Noir was seen roaming the city, outside of the patrol routes now well-documented. A dozen arguments sprung up on the Internet regarding his intentions, a surprisingly quiet response in light of the hero’s high public profile.

If anyone noticed Marinette spending the day holed up in her room, with some kind of awful mechanical noise echoing from it almost constantly, they kept it to themselves.

Sunday saw little – notes that slowly began to slip out of French and into something not quite a language at all, careful searches of stashes long since established that hadn’t seen any other hands since the last check a month earlier. Other things, small things, important in their own way, but trivial too.

Monday, though. Monday saw a bit more of note.

* * *

The day’s greeting was bright, cheery, and only a touch below warm. The birds were singing soft, the scent of pastries and coffee carried by on the breeze, and the unceasing paranoia of the general public kept itself to only a mild terror of every passer-by.

Really, it was the best kind of day you could ask for. A day that would be absolutely wasted sitting about in a classroom, disregarding her lessons on… something – it had been a while since she actually checked what they were working on, but Lila _did_ recall pawning off an English assignment on that one sycophant that used to follow the Bourgeois brat.

Not that it particularly mattered. Mother, as per usual, was off at the embassy – and that meant all she had to do was whip up a quick sob story and call in. Injury? No, she had played that a bit too recently. Someone _else’s_ injury… ugh, but it was _Monday._ Something personal, had to pass the sniff test – people were such _drags_ on Mondays, it was always a coin flip if they would think it through.

With a groan of effort, Lila rolled out of her bed. Her hair was a bit of a mess, of course, she had gone to bed far too early and woken up in the middle of the night – teach her to drag on a sick call, she had only barely managed to skip out on a trip to the doctor the other day. Trodding sleepily over to her work desk, Lila… frowned.

“I didn’t leave these out last night, did I?” the Italian girl muttered, messily sorting through a few papers scattered like fallen leaves. Some in-progress plans for Volpina written up in shorthand, those would have passed a casual inspection, a short sheaf with the red rubber band – that was her file on _Marinette,_ a bit more incriminating but the important ones were – quick check – still under the false bottom in her Planning Drawer, her ‘reference’ doctor’s note… _that_ would have been bad if anyone had seen it.

Not that they _would_ – Mother knew better than to invade her room – but still. Sloppy of her. She’d probably started working on something during that brief period of waking after midnight…

“Shouldn’t be a problem, I suppose.” Lila shrugged, stashing the papers as appropriate. “Where… did… I… put… a- _ha!”_

Little black books may have been passé, but an unmarked black notebook with some carefully copied notes from… History, apparently – _utterly_ dull – could easily enough pass as school materials. Not that she actually _used it as a notebook,_ she wasn’t a _moron,_ but it was a nice cover for the much more useful schedule that she used to keep track of events. No way to have a lie fall apart like having video evidence of someone on the other side of the planet, after all.

Flipping to the relevant page, Lila took a moment to browse – fall, early… the Jagged Stone tour had just ended yesterday in… Australia, of all places – flight issues? That could work. Or the charity run in the states, that was a bit more of a stretch… _unless_ she tied it into Fashion Week, the dates lined up _perfectly_ and she knew for a fact that it would just _stick_ in that _irritating wannabe designer’s_ head… fashion fashion fashion fashion, _Gabriel_ was a no-go, so it had better be… nothing that would get her anywhere _near_ the stage…

She smiled, beginning to rummage through her posters – there should be a livestream she could find of the show, so all she needed to do was mess with the volume a little, and the video feed – there really was an app for _everything._ Really, those suckers should be honored that she was putting this much effort into it, even if it wasn’t for _them._ But then…

Lila Rossi let out a melancholy sigh, a wistful sort of deceptive smirk spreading across her face.

“Nobody appreciates a good lie like I do…”

* * *

 _“So_ sorry I wasn’t able to call in before! It’s been _non. Stop,_ you would _not_ believe it!” she said, because all the best lies were based in truths. “I’ve been in New York since Friday night, and this is the _first_ time I’ve been able to get a moment alone with a signal!”

Some mild chattering on the other end – they were hooked, of course. Really, it was a shame that she wouldn’t be able to see the look on that goody two-shoes’ face, but, well, _c’est la vie._ She’d just have to corner the rebellious little witch next time she was in school.

“Hang on a second, New York? So – wait, you’re at Fashion Week?” and there was the blonde, keeping the accusation only just enough out of his voice not to alert any of their idiot classmates. Shame that a pretty face like that had to be on such a damn bore, but whatever, he was too much of a coward to actually call her out.

“Charity marathon, actually! I _barely_ scraped out a win on Saturday, and, well, I happened to be in the neighborhood, so,” Lila shrugged, putting a bit of helpless whimsy into her voice, “when I ran into Mademoiselle Vaillancourt it would have just been _rude_ to refuse her invitation, especially with how _exclusive_ Fashion Week is this year…”

“It’s wonderful that you’ve been given this opportunity, Lila,” and there was Bustier, as caring and understanding and so, _so_ stupid as always. Really, the woman had not an ounce of suspicion in her. Or spine, for that matter… ah, she was still talking, “and I’m so proud of you for putting an effort in to help others.”

 _What_ a moron.

 _“Technically_ I’m not supposed to be here – seats were sold out, so I _may_ have been smuggled backstage – but they were very understanding about letting the school know where I am.” Lila replied, sweet as antifreeze. “Can’t let anything else slip, though!”

“Now _that’s_ a shame! Marinette here would’ve absolutely _loved_ an up-close-and-personal look at those designs, eh?”

Oh, _Alya._ Alya Alya Alya. A _journalist._ Lila had been _wary_ of her at first – the free press had such a nasty habit of tearing apart webs like the ones she so loved to spin, and _Alya C_ _ésaire,_ the **_Ladyblogger,_** surely couldn’t be just another tabloid hound? Couldn’t be twisted around Lila’s finger with a couple pretty lies about her heroine and turn into just another mindless sheep, or a mutt to guard her wicked web without ever a question _why?_

Arf arf, little doggy, do you want a treat?

And the best part was that the Martiniquan was _Marinette’s best friend!_ It was absolutely _hilarious_ watching the disgust flick across that perfect little princess’ eyes, watching _doubt_ and _disdain_ grow in equal measure as the person she had thought so reliable and trustworthy parroted lie after blatant childish lie in an effort to _mend bridges_ between the two of them – Lila had made a little game of it, seeing what the most ridiculous thing she could get Césaire to accept without question and blurt back in Marinette’s _face_ was.

Right then, it was… her name carved into the moon by the joint French-Indian drone mission in 2018, wasn’t it? In small letters, of course, probably already crumbled away – that had been a _fun_ one. Marinette had been _shaking_ with fury… it had almost been _disappointing,_ the way her voice locked up in the bathroom later; Lila found that she really rather _liked_ the way her impotent _rage_ lit up those bluebell eyes, flavored the venom on her tongue…

Speaking of which – it had been five seconds and far too quiet. Forcing her attention back to the call, Lila coughed politely. “Ah, can you all still hear me? Have we lost connection, or…?”

A short, sharp snap on the other end – fingers, and fairly loud. A brief, choked snort, some shuffling, and…

“Whuh? I – oh, it’s Lila. Hi.”

The Italian blinked, red hair bouncing slightly in the motion of a half-started shake of her head. That… sounded like Marinette. Sort of.

It was flat and lifeless and mildly angry, which seemed about right, and the tones of it matched to the seamstress she knew and _despised…_ but on the other hand, Lila had never heard Marinette sound quite so… _hollow._

“Why _exactly_ is everyone staring at Baking Girl?” the Bourgeois brat’s voice cut in, as acerbic and dismissive as ever. “No. Wait. Don’t tell me. Not a _single one_ of you _shining young leaders of tomorrow_ noticed that Dupain-Cheng hasn’t slept in, what, three days?”

“I did.” Adrien offered quietly, weirdly serious in tone – something to look into later. His was, of course, the _only_ voice – boring as hell, but he was smarter than he looked. Silence, for another moment.

Oh, Lila could almost forgive the effort she’d wasted for _this._ Almost – she’d have to punish her thoughtless opponent later.

“Oh, _no!”_ Rose’s gratingly twee tone turned to a gratifying wail, as general uproar broke out among the idiots. “Marinette! You _know_ you shouldn’t be staying up all weekend, it’s just unhealthy!”

Something to get some alone time… maybe she could work that ‘bullying’ angle again and get her good and steamed up…

* * *

Marinette was not having a good day.

She had thought of several ways it could _become_ a good day. Waking up in New York with a Wednesday-Thursday ticket for London and a revelation on the nature of the Miracle Ball, waking up in her bed with Tikki tugging on her hair because she was late for school, waking up to Master Fu at the door with the lost Miraculi in hand and his memories back where they belonged, or maybe just going to sleep.

Actually, all of those kinda involved sleep. That was weird.

Honestly, she’d settle for trading the persistent shake that kept throwing off her attempts to diagram the rail system inside the Miracle Ball for her brain back, thanks, it just wandering off into some fantasy about hitchhiking mice and dragons adopting snakes wasn’t helping her figure out which of the remaining spots on the Miracle Ball was the one she was supposed to activate first. Or, maybe more importantly, _how to get to them in the first place._

And now everyone was being _loud_ and _shrill_ and why did she even bother going to school that day? Lila was skipping. And Lila had made everyone freak out. Marinette could have stayed home and worked on the Miracle Ball some more, she was really getting close to figuring out the first step. _Six whole spots_ she had conclusively eliminated from the running. Six! And she was almost sure about _eight_ more!

Groaning softly, Marinette laid her head down on her desk. Alya was talking _really_ loudly, and Alix was saying something about the nurse’s office… honestly, why _had_ she bothered showing up? They had barely started the new school year, summer vacation had ended _two weeks ago._ She could have just called in sick – she probably looked the part, come to think of it.

…why _didn’t_ she call in sick?

“Miss Bustier?” she called out, voice wavering in time with the world quaking around her as she stood up from her seat. “I think I’m sick. I’m gonna go home and sleep it off.”

Then she slumped a little bit, because the legs she was standing on stopped being… hard, maybe? They kinda just flopped, but _that was okay,_ because she only flopped onto a thing she could lean on. And it wasn’t far enough to be the ground, and really warm, so it was probably a person.

Actually, she should probably apologize for falling on someone. And who had she fallen on, exactly? Her eyes weren’t being cooperative _at all,_ which was really annoying. And now the entire world was kind of… sludging past her, in sickening waves of movement, and she was experienced enough to know that trying to open her eyes and look around would only make her puke.

“Marinette? Marinette, are you in there?”

Nope. Tikki was, though. Which sucked.

* * *

Adrien was _also_ not having a good day.

It was really, _really_ awkward, he had discovered, to be covertly investigating the girl who had apparently used all her remaining lucidity up on informing everyone that she was sick. The last time he had seen someone this out of it, they had been… actually, no, not even the guy Marinette had smashed over the head with that desk the other day.

“Yeah, she’s not going to be getting anything else done today.” he judged, shifting his hasty catch-grip on her shoulders. “I’ll help her get back home.”

“You sure, dude?” Alix piped up. “I could take care of it-”

“-or I could,” Kim offered, shooting a mild, lukewarm even, glare over at the skater.

“No, no, I’ve got this. You all just, um… do what Miss Bustier says?” he finished, lamely. Then ducked out of the door before anyone else could speak, an effort made easier by the general air of befuddlement in the classroom and harder by the lump of generally insensate seamstress more or less lying entirely on his side.

Adrien let out a short sigh, surveying the halls. They were mostly empty – classes, and all – but that wouldn’t last. It was lucky that Marinette lived so close to the school.

“Well, nothing else for it. Hey, can you walk?” he asked, quietly, not really expecting an answer. “You’re not already asleep, are you?”

Marinette grumbled something in response. Or possibly just in general. It was really hard to tell, and Adrien suspected it involved foul language; he was just going to ignore it.

“…Adrien?”

 _That,_ on the other hand, he was not going to ignore. “Hey, Kagami.” the blonde replied, pulling his charge out of another slump. “How’s it going?”

“I am well, thank you. What is wrong with Marinette?” the blue-haired fencer asked, striding over quickly. “Is she injured?”

“No, just… didn’t sleep. All weekend, apparently.” Adrien sighed. “Maybe longer. She’s…”

“In poor condition. Very well.”

Kagami ducked out of Adrien’s view for a moment, and the load on his side-

“Oh, you don’t have to help. It’s not that far, and she’s really not that heavy.” he protested. Not very hard, but it was only polite; Kagami didn’t even bother responding to that, instead hauling Marinette up between them into a more standing position than the loose slump she had adopted.

“If we hurry, we may be able to get there and back before the next class period.” she said instead. “The bakery is just across the street, is it not?”

Adrien nodded quietly, setting off in easy time with his fencing partner’s aid. A frown crossed his face as they approached the school gates, uneasy thoughts pooling.

He couldn’t exactly tell Kagami what was going on – Ladybug vanishing was something that _desperately_ needed to be kept under wraps – and really, drawing more attention to Marinette in general right then was probably a bad idea in that department, but… but.

“Hey, by the way – I ran into Marinette this weekend, actually.” he mentioned quietly. Kagami’s interest sharpened immediately, Adrien didn’t even have to look to see that. “I… she was acting kind of… weird.”

Silence.

“I think it’s… something important. Like, _really_ important. But… it might be something that I’m not supposed to know about, and… I don’t really know what to do.”

“You can’t talk to any of your classmates about this.” Kagami said, voice neutral and low.

“I…!” Adrien began, before stopping.

Who _would_ he trust with any part of this? Nino? It’d spill to Alya immediately, and she was in _way_ too deep with Lila. And who could he trust even half as much as Nino? The only people that came to mind were Marinette herself and… _Chloe._ And Chloe…

…well, Adrien wouldn’t have trusted Chloe with secrets _before_ she announced her superhero status to the world. There was no denying she was smart and effective, but secrets were absolutely _not_ Chloe’s thing.

“…guess you’re right.” he admitted. “I don’t… I’m confused, and I’m not really sure how far I should pry or whether I should at all, and I think it might be… I think this might be really and truly dangerous.”

Another moment of silence. The gate loomed ahead – on the other side, talking about anything… _sensitive_ would be a really bad idea. No way to tell who could hear.

“Very well then. It is New York Fashion Week, is it not?”

Adrien blinked, almost missing a step before recovering and scrambling into step with his fencing partner. “Uh, yeah – it is. Yesterday to, um, Wednesday. And then after that – wait, wait, why?”

“As far as your class is concerned, Marinette has exhausted herself working on that in some manner.” Kagami replied easily, shoving open the gate door with her shoulder. “No other reason.”

Another blink. Another.

And then a smile spread across Adrien’s face.

“Thanks, Kagami.” he said quietly. “I – I owe you.”

“Marinette is a valued comrade.” the Japanese girl replied calmly, only the quirk of her lip betraying her. “As are you. We will… figure this out.”

They passed through the gate, then.

In – to be perfectly blunt – cahoots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The class means well. They really do.
> 
> They're just... dumb kids, honestly. Except Bustier. Bustier's a dumb adult.
> 
> Lila and Kagami make their debuts, along with - technically - the class, but honestly they're bit parts here at most. And, to be totally honest, I feel like I'm kind of running in circles here, a bit. There is some progress being made, but it's... dragging.
> 
> ...it has just occurred to me that I am complaining about my own damn story's pacing.
> 
> Well, that seems simple enough to fix...


End file.
